


I've Got Some Hot Bitches Waiting For Me, Somewhere

by rottenwood



Category: South Park
Genre: Liane Cartman (mentioned), M/M, Murder, cue kyle thinking too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23712070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottenwood/pseuds/rottenwood
Summary: In which Cartman kills his mother and goes to Kyle for help in the middle of the night.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	I've Got Some Hot Bitches Waiting For Me, Somewhere

Cartman shuffled against the window, peering in. As it always was this time of night, Kyle was asleep and his lights were off. No quiet hum of his brother's lights, so his brother was asleep too. He popped open the latch, pushed in quietly, stepping onto his desk then onto the floor. Kyle was in his bed, laying on his back with the covers off, sweating slightly, deep in sleep. Cartman was careful to be quiet as he slunk over to Kyle, stepping over bits he knew creaked, around the chair that whistled when it spun, until he was looming over his enemy. He whispered to Kyle to wake up, but the boy didn't budge. Cartman shuffled, looked over to Kyle's door, eyeing it warily to see whether it was locked or not. Everything felt heavy to him, he was honestly amazed he was still standing with his hands shaking and his mind whirring. Cartman was quite sure why he decided to come to Kyle's house, out of all the places he could have, should have gone. Butters surely would have been easier to manipulate, especially in this circumstance. The boy was scared of everything and gullible as all Hell, but his home was too risky, especially with all the camera's Stephen had set up to "catch Butters sneaking out". Cartman almost laughed when he heard that. Actually, he did laugh, because it was entirely absurd. Butters' parents' perception of their child was so incredibly warped it rivaled schizophrenia.   
Kenny, obviously, was the healthy second choice, but that was dashed when he showed up at Kenny's window to find him gone. Entirely, absolutely vanished. Dead, probably. It had only enraged Cartman further, but that rage was simmering now. He had a plan, and he knew a Jew who, whether he wanted to or not, would help him. Maybe it was Kyle's own fault. His naturally caring and sympathetic nature would accidentally extend to the fat boy on more than one occasion, and, like any good psychopath, Cartman knew how to exploit it.   
So there Cartman stood, hovering over Kyle's almost angelic sleeping visage, breathing like a baboon. He reached out and harshly tugged one of Kyle's soft curls, making Kyle's eyes twitch in his sleep. He tugged harder until Kyle's eyes slid slowly open. A pause of silence, both just looking at each other, Kyle's vision hazed from lingering sleep, Cartman's tinged with madness.   
Then Kyle opened his mouth to scream, and Cartman was on top of him so fast all that came out was a gurgle. "Listen," Cartman was inches from Kyle's face, staring into his huge green eyes. He couldn't quite tell if Kyle was scared or furious, but he didn't care either way. "Listen, Kahl, I need something from you." Kyle was breathing heavily through his nose, trying to wriggle out from under Cartman's weight. "I'm going to lift my hand and if you scream, so help me God, I'll kill you." Squinting, Kyle did his best to nod his head, and Cartman rolled off of him. When he lifted his hand, Kyle immediately let fly a barrage of strained questioning, to which Cartman didn't reply.   
He was dismissive in tone, limping a hand in the air. "Kahl, I need twenty bucks."   
"I'm not giving you twenty bucks, asshole." Kyle's voice was a raspy whisper, teetering on the verge of tantrumous screaming and careful, quiet fear. Kyle could pick it up, he certainly wasn't stupid, the difference in this Cartman and yesterday's Cartman, the change in posture and demeanor, the lack of restraint running wild in his eyes. Kyle inhaled and sat up, eyeing Cartman warily the whole time. Of course, Cartman sneaking into his room was nothing particularly new, but this time it was different, it felt different, and that put Kyle on a steeper edge than usual.   
Cartman pointed to Kyle's desk drawer. The request was still pulsing in the air, but Kyle didn't budge. "Why do you need twenty bucks, fatass?" His green eyes were narrow and piercing.   
"I can't tell you," Cartman said simply.   
"Then I can't give you twenty bucks."   
There was silence, then something passed across cartman's eyes, a shadow of some strange mix of desperation and rage. Not even cartman knew quite what he was feeling or doing when he pulled the gun out of his pocket, but Kyle's eyes went wide and his body scrambled against the wall behind his bed and that was enough to tell Cartman he was doing something right. "The money," His voice was raspy, tinged with a coldness that didn't match his burning insides.   
Kyle looked at him, eyes like dinner plates, mouth open just a tad. "D-dude?"   
"The money." Cartman wanted to yell, to scream and shoot Kyle, and take it all for himself, but he couldn't risk waking Kyle's family. He had six bullets in his pocket and one in the gun. If he missed, he'd have to reload, giving Kyle enough time to rush him, and Kyle's family to wake and come see what was going on. Kyle stood slowly on his bed, nodding to the desk, his hands pressed firmly to the wall to hide their shakiness. He tried to put on a brave face, something that wasn't unusual when it came to dealing with Cartman, but the idea that Cartman wouldn't hesitate to kill him was breaching the horizon of his mind and pulling at his pores. Cartman shuffled sideways, pulled open the drawer with one hand, keeping the gun and eyes pointed at Kyle. He took all that was in there, at least a hundred, probably more, and stuffed it in his back pocket. "I did something, Kahl." Kyle didn't respond, just stared. "Something monumentous, something every kid dreams of."   
Kyle didn't want to take the bait, but it was against the nature of their game not to. So he asked.   
"I'm free, Kyle." Cartman grinned. A horrible, rotting, stinking grin. "I killed my mom."   
Kyle blinked. It didn't really feel real, in all honesty, just another one of Cartman's many tricks, but the glint in Cartman's eyes, the shaking gun, the wide grin- it terrified Kyle, dug a pit in the deep of his stomach. He tried not to show it. "You're joking."   
"No," Cartman was backing up to the window. "No, no, I'm not. I did it. After years of waiting- hah! I actually fucking did it." He kept his voice low, but the excitement sent a tremor through it. "That whore is dead and I'm free from her tyranny."   
"Tyranny? What tyranny? You lived the best life, fatass." Kyle couldn’t help the little tinge of anger.   
"You don't know what it's like to be me, Jewboy!"   
"Your mom loved you more than anythin-"   
"Shut up!" Cartman yelled it unintentionally and cocked his gun. His voice dropped to a whisper again. "No one gets it, no one knows what that bitch was like. She's the evil one. I did what I had to."   
"Bullshit." Kyle's gaze was piercing. "You didn't have to do shit."   
Cartman just stared at him. "Are you gonna snitch on me? Call the police?"   
The question caught Kyle off guard for a second. Of course he would, right? Cartman saw the shift and launched himself on top of Kyle again. "Listen, Kahl," Cartman pointed the gun into Kyle's stomach, pressing him flush against the wall. "You can't go to the police on this. You know why? Because you gave me money-"   
"You stole it."   
"The police in this town don't ever listen to you, Kyle." And it was true. All the times he'd gone to them, from the psychic thing to Ike's teacher, no one ever listened to him. "They don't care what you say. So why would you even bother?"   
Kyle knew he was right, but his mind refused to accept it. "They'll believe me when they see what you've done."   
"You're an accomplice. Why aren't you calling the police right now? Why haven't you at least tried to restrain me?"   
"You have a gun, why would I even try?"   
"I killed her with a cord."   
"What?"   
"I killed her with a cord. I strangled her. Why would I have a gun on me?" It made sense. Why would Cartman be threatening Kyle with a gun when there was no evidence of him even having one? Kyle knew the Cartman household had no gun safe or any evidence they would own guns. He blinked. "I got the gun from Kenny's. I went there first and he wasn't there, so I came here. His white trash heritage was useful for something, at least."   
There was silence. Kyle stared at Cartman, who was much too close to his face. His voice was delicate, "Where are you going now?"   
"I dunno. Mexico, maybe. Or Florida. Or maybe even California. Wherever the fuck I want." He backed away, twirling the gun haphazardly in his hand. "Make a new life for myself. I'm free, now. I got a fake idea for buying liquor a while ago, I'll use that." He blinked. "Hey, maybe we'll meet again, right?" Kyle couldn't say anything, just stare with wide eyes at the boy.   
"What if I snitch on you? What if I go right now and wake up my parents and tell them everything?"   
"They won't believe you." Cartman grinned. "Are you sure this is even real, and not some sick sort of dream?" Silence. "Anyways, I'm gonna dip. I've got some hot bitches waiting for me somewhere. Bye, Jewboy."   
And he was gone, a hundred bucks richer, and quite a bit happier knowing he'd scared his enemy. Kyle just felt defeated. He stumbled over to the window and watched Cartman run off into the woods behind his house. They'd find him eventually, Kyle reassured himself, but what would happen if they did? Of course, Cartman would tell them Kyle was in on it, which he wasn't, but he could easily twist the story about the money and say Kyle gave it to him, say he was an accomplice. That boy could bullshit anything, and Kyle knew it. He opened his desk drawer, checking if the money was actually gone.   
Of course, it was.   
He closed his eyes. All he could do now was go back to sleep, but his brain was buzzing and his heart was beating and he couldn't close his eyes. He spent the rest of the night sitting on his bed watching his window.   


* * *

It'd been three months since Cartman had left and they still hadn't found him. Obviously, South Park police weren't exactly the most competent force, and they had trampled all over the crime scene to the point any evidence beyond the body became lost. It was so painfully obvious who had done it, but the police's search for Cartman was halfhearted at best. Ultimately, they didn't really care. Who would care about a whore and her obnoxious son?   
Only Kyle, it seemed, who became borderline obsessed with the case. He was at dinner one night with his family, sitting at the table and ranting about it, about the incompetence of the police, about the obviousness of who had done it.   
"Maybe it wasn't Cartman," Ike said between mouthfuls of creamed spinach. "Maybe one of her old boyfriends came in and killed her, and Cartman just left. It's not like he'd have much to stay for if she was dead."   
"Cartman would have called the police, Ike. He would have freaked out if someone else had killed her." Kyle was on edge. He wanted to say I know Cartman did it but some primal fear kept him from it.   
"Are you saying he killed her?" His father asked.   
"I-" Kyle stopped. He felt as if Cartman would jump from the closet and shoot him, he could feel his heart speed up. "I mean, it's certainly a possibility. I just- I wish the police would have spent longer on the case before closing it."   
"Yeah, I mean, it's only been what? Two months?" Ike looked around the table.   
"Three months and three weeks, actually." Kyle blinked.   
"Your expectations are too high, sweetie," His mother smiled kindly at him. "I know Cartman was your friend and you're worried for him-" Kyle nearly burst out laughing. "-but I'm sure he's fine."   
"Cartman was always raving about running off to Florida or California anyways. He's always wanted to get away. I'm sure if he came home and saw his mother dead, he would've taken off without a second thought. He's not the kind of person to think through something like that." Ike stuffed more food into his mouth.   
"But- wouldn't he at least want to get his name cleared?"   
"Cartman knows this place is shit-"   
"Language, Ike!" Sheila yipped, snapping her fingers.   
"Sorry, ma. But he knows no one's gonna care, besides maybe you. I'm surprised he didn't visit before he left in all honesty. That's the only thing that’s wrong with my theory, he'd want to tell everyone he's leaving, rub it in all his friends' faces. But it doesn't matter anyway. I don't get why you're not happier he's gone, he was horrible to you."   
"His mom is dead, Ike. I can't just be happy about that."   
Ike shrugged. "You know what I mean. I'm just saying you care about it too much. Ms. Cartman wasn't exactly the most... pure person. This honestly doesn't surprise me much."   
"It is a shame, though. She was quite a sweet lady. Devious, certainly, but sweet nonetheless. Wouldn't hurt a fly." Sheila smiled sadly for a moment, but it passed quickly. It seemed no one truly cared at all.   
"Don't you guys want to know what happened?"   
"Not particularly." Gerald shrugged, then proceeded to change the subject to something about Stan's family making a surprise trip to Atlanta. Something about visiting family. Kyle felt his face redden with irritation but worked to keep himself in check. No one cared. He supposed it wasn't surprising, but it was still angering. A woman was dead, and the culprit was obvious, yet the case hadn’t even made the newspaper. No one cared, not even his schoolmates, who were often annoyed when he brought it up. They were all happy to be rid of the fatass. Kyle had contemplated sending out an anonymous tip to a few Denver newspapers, but it would've obviously been from him. The fear of ostracization from his peers unsettled him, but not as much as the paranoia that Cartman would come back and kill him. Even just the thought that Cartman would be anywhere near him ever again terrified him. He blinked and shook his head.   
"May I be excused?"   
Sheila looked at his plate. "You've barely eaten."   
"I feel sick, I need to lie down."   
"If it's about Cartman-"   
"It's not- just- please?"   
Sheila looked at him. As all mothers know, she knew something wasn't right, but she wasn't in the mood for a fight. With a nod of her head, Kyle leaped up, cleared his plate, and practically ran to his room. He closed the door and turned off the light, made it just as it was that night. When he opened the drawer, the money was still gone. Cartman had taken $178 worth of savings from Kyle's working as a delivery boy for the local pizza shop. Kyle shuffled around his room, double-checked the deadbolt on his window, opened the drawer again, before finally sitting down on his bed. He was entirely expecting Cartman's round face to pop up in the window, to taunt him and laugh, but there was nothing. Maybe he was really gone, had really caught the Greyhound or hitchhiked or something to someplace. Kyle felt sick. He laid down.   
He hated Cartman, he really, truly did, but him not being there- it just felt wrong, like the universe was slipping out of sync. He blinked. Was this obsession? He hadn't stopped thinking of Cartman for the past four months. His fat body occupied Kyle's every thought. At times he felt as if Cartman was watching him, thought he heard his voice call his name, but as always it was just his mind playing with him.   
Cartman probably was gone. Ike was right, he had always talked of getting the fuck out. Why wasn't Kyle happy he was gone? He felt... empty. Like he was missing something, a piece of himself. To Kyle's conscious mind it was wrong, entirely wrong. That fat Nazi had traumatized him his entire life, but subconsciously he missed him. Their fights, their hatred, their anger- in a way it fueled him, gave him reason. Now Cartman was gone he felt wrong, felt useless.   
Kyle kept watching the window.   
When his phone buzzed, he almost expected to see the fat boy's face, but it was just Stan. He picked up the phone.   
"Stan, what's up? How's Atlanta?"   
"Oh, man, it's really fuckin' lame in all honesty."   
"I bet. It's Georgia, dude. What's there even to do in that place?"   
"Nothing! I've been waiting all day to call you, man. I've been hanging out with my little cousins this entire time."   
"Oh, weak, that's got to suck."   
"Yeah, it really does. I can't believe I'm saying this but I actually miss South Park." Stan kept talking but Kyle wasn't quite listening. He was watching out his window. There, standing along the fence line, was a tall brunette, looking lazily up at Kyle's window, smiling like a shark. Kyle felt his face pale, his eyes widen. Their gazes connected like a plug sparking in a socket. Kyle felt everything run through his body- sickness, fear, anger, surprise, joy- before he stood up and rushed to the restroom. After throwing up in the toilet he gingerly walked back to the window and looked out.   
His head was swimming.   
No one was there.   
The phone was on the floor and he heard Stan saying his name, but nothing clicked. He crumpled against the window, hands pressed against the glass, almost pleading to see him again until his mother came in. She gently led him to the bed and hung up the phone, saying a quiet goodbye to Stan.   
"He's not feeling so well," Sheila said. Kyle could barely hear her. His brain felt fuzzy and overstimulated. "He'll call you back, Stan."   
He needed to throw up again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many drafts rn, I just can't get anywhere on any of them. It's mostly the dialogue that's stopping me. This started as an attempt to practice dialogue, which I want to do more of. I also want to work on keeping the character as in character as possible. Any advice on either of those things is heavily encouraged : )  
> Originally I had illustrations for this but they were so clunky and ugly I scrapped 'em. I'll try again later, methinks. Or maybe I'll get a guest to illustrate. We shall see.  
> lots of love to those who actually read this. mwah.  
> Any favorite lines/epithets/etc?


End file.
